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29 March 2016

I just want all people older than me to stop assuming. To stop saying things like "Oh, my parents are getting older, you know how it is" and then wait for me to smile sympathetically, to say "Yes, of course, I understand, how horrible it must be to witness that." I can't take it anymore. I used to be able to, but something snapped. You don't get to complain about your aging parents to a 24-year-old who doesn't have anything anymore. You don't get to tell me that Oh No, you have to take care of them because they can't take care of themselves anymore. Been there, done that, only that old age is a little kinder than cancer.
A priest told me a while back that this is God's plan, and that he is killing my mother so that I can be better loved in a different life. He killed my grandparents so that I could be protected from the sky. But this isn't a prophecy and I don't have a lightning scar on my forehead. All I have is an empty heart. There is no meaning in this. There is no more meaning in anything. Life feels dry, leaving the taste of ashes behind with each passing day. Colors are dimmed and I'm scared one morning I'll wake up and everything will be gray.
I lead a simulacrum of a life and hop on my hamster wheel every day, because what if it gets better? Spoiler: it never does.
Today I congratulated myself for getting out of bed. For watching a movie. I rarely do even that anymore. I have books but I can't read. I have to write but the words get stuck somewhere between the fingers and the keyboard.
People around me complain that the food their parents send isn't what they wanted. I can't find the will to go out and buy bread. The onion in the pantry sprouted so I planted it. It will probably die, nothing I plant ever lasts.
I wasn't trying to make a point, other than I'm bitter, and life tastes bad and it used to taste so good and I'm scared.
So please just don't talk to me about your parents. I don't want to hear it.

23 November 2013

"W-why won't you notice me?" Xander whispered sullenly. He could hear the sloshing sounds of only-Kami-sama-knows-what-was-going-on-to-his-left, as soft moans were steadily building up. Kuso! They should have been MY moans. MINE.
He then heard gasps right as the door opened again. How much more must I suffer? he asked himself trying his hardest to hold back the tears that were forming behind his kawaii eyelashes.
"Bă, ați început fără mine?? Las', că am venit acum cu paloșul meu strașnic! Haida!"Dan? Why was he here? And, most importantly, why was he talking like that?
"Hă-hă, văd că l-ați legat cum știe Lumpy mai bine. Făinoșag!"
Too bad nobody understood his accent, as he had been spending too much time reviewing weird games in his native accent. The almost-threesome remained quiet, the two of them that still had the ability to see looking at Dan with confused expressions on their faces. Xander felt a warm hand on his shoulder.
"Hai sus."
But Xander didn't understand him. The language barrier between them stood hard like the member in his pants. And it was only getting harder. It was almost like his dick was one of the Titans from their new favorite anime. But bigger.**********************************wooooo**************************************

16 November 2013

"Pants are stupid in the first place," Luffy whispered as he pointed towards Xander's pulsating crotch. Lumpy nodded in agreement, shivering with anticipation. They were finally going to have the threesome he's only dared dream about in the darkest corners of his mind. The ones reserved for weird Russian porn sites and furries.

"Shall we do everyone a favor and remove them?" Lumpy winked at Luffy, touching his chin ever so slightly.
"Do the honors," Luffy smirked, his chin blending into his other chin with desire.
"Don't mind if I do!"

"Hey hey HEY," interjected Xander. "I'm still here you know."
"We know. That's the whole point. If you weren't here, we'd all have to go back to our girlfriends and," Luffy looked at Lumpy for a moment before continuing, "... goats."
"You know what? I don't even mind. Schnitzi is a lovely goat and I don't have to explain myself to anyone. Hmpf." Lumpy pouted an irresistible pout that made Luffy's heart doki doki.
"You're so cute when you're tsundere, Lumpy-sempai," Luffy was smitten.
"N-no I'm not."
"Kya~ <3 So adorable!" Luffy took his glasses off, so that they wouldn't get in the way as he got on his knees in front of the kawaii Lumpy. Xander had been forgotten for the moment. He felt unloved. Stockholm called: it wanted its syndrome back.

14 November 2013

"What's going on here?" The door slammed open and Luffy stood in the entrance, his glasses all foggy and his forehead wet. He was holding a few concept posters for the convention he was organizing - he wanted to show them to Xander to see if he approved, but he soon realized something else was going on. Which was why he asked, of course. His face resembled that of an injured puppy. But Xander couldn't see, for he was still blindfolded and in the process of being fondled by Lumpy.

"Nothing," answered Lumpy, not taking his hand from Xander's crotch. "Nothing at all. I was just testing some ideas for next camp. We were thinking of going with a BDSM kind of theme. Heh."

"R-Right. Of course." Luffy wasn't buying this. Mostly because he had invested all his money and had nothing left to buy it with.

"Uhm, seriously? You find nothing wrong with this whole situation?! ARE YOU BLIND OR JUST STUPID?" Xander's powerful voice thundered through the room, making the other men shiver. They liked it when he was bossy. Bossssssy.

Luffy looked at Lumpy and a silent nod was exchanged between them. They would both have their fun that night. The posters lay forgotten on the floor next to the door as Luffy took his scarf off and approached his friends.

13 November 2013

Xander woke up with a gasp, not knowing what was going on
around him. Questions like "where am I" and "what the hell am I
doing here" rushed through his blindfolded head as he tried to ease his
wrists out of the handcuffs. Unfortunately for him, Lumpy knew how to tie a
mean knot. He was, after all, an ex-boy scout.

"Hello?" Xander finally managed to say. The fabric
over his head didn't cover his mouth. He suspected why but didn't want to think
it, let alone say it. Kami-sama forbid it came true.

Lumpy shifted in his seat.

"Hello?" came Xander's rough voice upon the
hearing of rustling in front of him. Was it nighttime? What day was it?

Lumpy decided not to speak, as the sound of his voice would
give him away. He didn't want to be found out just yet. He liked to play hide
and seek with his prey. He smirked, rubbing his rugged chin. He knew Xander
wanted him ever since the last camp they organized together that summer.
Something like this was inevitable. Welcome, even.

"Why are you doing this to me, you little shit? At
least show me your face so I know where to spit." Xander was getting
angry, his head still spinning from the roofies he probably ingested at that
karaoke party Luffy threw in his honor. He knew that party was a bad idea.
Hmpf. He should have just stayed at home and eaten candy while freelancing the
night away. Baka.

He felt a hand on his leg and tried to move away, but the
restraints made any kind of movement very difficult, if not impossible
altogether. The hand was now near his crotch, rubbing slow but steady circles
in the fabric of his jeans.

"I see you're pretty responsive, Xander-kun."

Xander inhaled sharply at the recognition of the voice that
was burning hot breaths in his ear.

"L-Lumpy?"

"Yes, it is I, Lumpy."

Xander stood still for a moment, assessing the situation. On
the one hand he was pretty pissed off that he was drugged and tied up and then fondled
while blindfolded, but then again it was Lumpy who was doing the touching. As
far as he was concerned, he was okay. He swallowed nervously and felt himself relax under the rough hands of his secret crush.

*********************************to be continued*************************************

25 October 2013

But not that type of insomnia that keeps you awake just to mess with your head because it's bored and needs someone to come out and play. Instead, I got the kind that buzzes in your ears and doesn't let you rest until you smack it against the wall and leave a bloody trail in its wake. [If mosquitoes fed off period blood, things would be much easier.] That's when you decide that maybe it's time to get up and do something productive, since sleep is already forfeited.

So I went jogging. At 7 a.m. Through the Opera Park. Through the fog. Through people in suits hurrying their morning away and students with frowns wishing they were still in bed.

24 October 2013

I opened this and then left it here for several hours days.
Nothing creative happened. No spark. No divine inspiration. All I felt was a
little tired and with a backache. Writing
is hard.

I've mostly stuck to paper lately, but even then, even there, the words come out gutted and
crippled, dragging on until I end up drifting away somewhere. Anywhere.
Preferably not here-and-now, but there-and-then. If the past and the future
move fast enough, the illusion of some sort of present is created. The faster
you go, the more things you do, the more you get to live suspended in this
illusory now.

I've decided to force myself to write, even if I don’t have
anything to say. Especially if I don’t
have anything to say. This void takes up more of my mind than I’d like to
admit, and if the room is especially dark and quiet, I can hear my own
bloodstream sloshing about in my ears. [So much for a great inner voice.]

In a week I’m supposed to start writing a novel and finish
it in one month. This task was easier when I was still living in Vienna. The tiny,
solitary-confinement-type room at the second floor of an all-girls dorm was the
ideal recluse. This year I’m living it up in a noisy house with activity and
laughter. That’s the last thing I need when I write. Contentment. Ugh.